


By Will or By Force?

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:12:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Root and Shaw Prompt: Shoot move in together! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Will or By Force?

Shaw hauls a large, cardboard box into her arms, letting the bottom corner rest on her hip as she peers around. Her vision is clouded by stacks of boxes, all varying in size. The walls are bare; the cabinets all opened up to expose empty shelves. Letting out a sigh, she hoists the heavy box higher into her arms, then kicks the door open.

 _What am I getting myself into?_  She asks herself, listening to the clinking of objects as she travels down the stairs. She wasn’t attached to the apartment, to her a house was a house, but she could tell moving would be a battle and a half. With each stair she clamors down, she thinks of every step she’ll have to take back up, and every box she’ll have to carry with her. And the day only grows hotter. With the sun rising, the building’s air conditioning does little to keep the stifling heat out of the hall, and the beginning of sweat breaks at her hairline.

Three, four, five boxes down and six floors later, she can feel the heat in her arms and the twitching of her calves. Stepping back into the apartment, she sees barely a dent, as the larger containers still remain. From outside, there is a strain of honking, and Shaw shimmies her way past the cardboard forest to look out the string of windows. Peering straight out, she sees the one thing she knows she could miss: the view.

The skyline is lit in a bright blue, and the sunlight makes every metal building shimmer with diamonds. The honking continues, and Shaw- carrying a twinge of annoyance- casts her gaze down to the large U-Haul she’d rented out for the day. Squinting her eyes, she sees the driver’s door open, and a tall brunette leaning in. She steps out, large smile on her face, and the ache in Shaw’s muscles melts away. To irritation.  _What is she doing here?_

* * *

 

Shaw’s eyes narrow, and even from this distance, she can see the spark lighting in Root’s. Root, closing the car door, slips with a grace like floating towards the apartment building.  _No, no, no_ , Shaw fumes, shoving another box into her arms and picking her way back towards the door. By the time she gets to the door frame, Shaw can hear footsteps on the stairwell. Biting the side of her cheek, she slams herself to a lean, waiting with a glowering stare.

Soon enough, Root’s heels click down the hall, and her smiling face brightens the space. Shaw fights to keep her contemptuous sneer.

“Hey, Sam,” Root greets cheerily, stopping before her with doting eyes. Shaw looks her over, face softening but showing no warmth.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asks, more tired than cruel. Root gives her a secretive smirk and the slight shrug of her shoulders.

“Just wanted to stop by; see how my favorite sociopath is doing,” Root teases, and Shaw gives her a sliver of a smile.

“I’m fine,” Shaw replies, falling serious once more, then brushes past Root to carry the box down the steps.

“What are you doing?” Root asks, practically skipping behind. Shaw rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t Harold tell you?” She responds with a question of her own, feeling the ache crawling back into her muscles.

“No,” Root says, a pique in her interest.

“I’m moving,” Shaw answers, hitting the ground. She walks up to the truck, then shoves the box in the back. The heat is sticking to her skin and yanking at her hair. When she turns, she runs head on into Root, who hovers over her with curiosity in her eyes. Shaw, annoyed, side-steps; however, Root matches her stride.

“Moving where?” She asks, and Shaw can detect a doleful melancholy in her voice. Her eyes are serious, but have the questioning innocence of a child within them. Shaw tilts her head to the side, making herself ignore the hurt in Root’s voice before answering.

“Just outside of Manhattan,” Shaw tells her, pushing herself onto the edge of the truck as she speaks. “They’re adding security cameras up around here- it’s not gonna be a black zone much longer.”

“So… You’re going to be far out?”

“Just thirty minutes or so from the station.” Root nods, understanding. Shaw steps around her to head back inside, all the while Root thinks. Her heart gives a lurch and there’s a flutter in her stomach as an idea comes to her.

“Hey! Shaw!” Root scurries back up the stairs, catching Shaw at the top of the staircase.

“Shaw, I have an idea.” Shaw turns, looking at her with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. She raises her eyebrows, waiting for Root to continue. Suddenly, Root feels a nervousness crawling in her stomach, and her fingers ring together. “I mean, if you, don’t want to drive all that way all the time.”

Silence.

“Are you going to  _tell_  me?” Shaw leans against the banister, holding desperately to her patience. Again, Root fumbles.

“You could- if you  _wanted_  to- you could move in… with me?”

Shaw’s eyes widen minutely, then an amused smile takes over her face. She laughs like a melody, then slips back into her old loft.

“I’d rather live with  _John_ ,” she jokes, recapping the time she’d had to share a living quarters with Reese.  _It wasn’t too pleasant_ , she remembers, then shakes her head free of the memory.

She grabs a box, turns; stops. Root stands in the door way, rejection written on her face, and forces out an smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Shaw shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. An awkward quiet sits between them menacingly, and Shaw can’t help but acknowledge its presence.

“You’re  _serious_?” Shaw asks, laughing over her disbelief and skepticism. When she sees Root is serious, she coughs into submission, feeling the unease prickling on her skin. “If you help me with the boxes, I’ll think about it,” she replies at last, but Root shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine, I was just offeri-”

“It’s a good offer,” Shaw cuts her off, looking at her with a stern eye. “And I’ll take it. As long as you help me with the boxes.” Root smiles, her easy going nature resurfacing once more, and she draws a large container into her arms.

“Then let’s go,” Root tells her with a dazzling grin, and Shaw can’t help but smile, wondering- with even more gravity than before-  _what am I getting myself into?_

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /________

“Here we are,” Root says cheerily, happiness bubbling up in her words. Against Shaw’s hard stare and folded arms, Root managed her way into the driver’s seat, driving with Shaw at her side the short distance to her apartment. Periodically, she would peer over at Shaw. She watched the air from the open window dancing with Shaw’s hair, the tapping of Shaw’s fingers against the edge of the door, and the relaxed manner with which she sat in the passenger seat. Every so often, a flutter would spring in her heart as Shaw looked over her way, sometimes blandly, and other times with scanning eyes and a small smile when she didn’t know Root was aware.

Parking the car, Root steps out quickly, with Shaw at her heels. They meet at the back of the truck, and Shaw- with nimble fingers- unhooks the latch. They share a look, and Root swears she can see something like nervousness in Shaw’s eyes. However, before she has time to contemplate, Shaw looks away, and together they haul the large door open. Boxes are mountains, and they loom menacingly from within.

With a large grin on her face, Root slides out the first box, then heads towards the building.

“You’re the only person I know who’d be  _happy_  to share an apartment,” Shaw jokes, following behind with a container of her own. Root flashes a smile over one shoulder before propping open the lobby’s door.

“I’ve never had a room mate before,” Root coos, hitting the elevator button with an elbow. They step in, and Root presses the large number three for the third floor. Light, classical music fills the space, and both stand in relative silence. Shaw can feel the excited energy radiating from the woman beside her, and tries not to laugh. As hard and tough as Root can be, Shaw knows that she has the underlying spirit of an eight year old.

Up and down they travel, until every box is up and the truck is stripped to the bone. Then, with the sun starting to dip in the sky, they set to unpacking.

“What’s this?” Root asks, pulling out a large jumble of wooden sticks and hinges. She shifts it around in her hands as Shaw comes to her side. Taking it, Shaw shakes it open, locking the joints and sitting it up.

“Easel,” she answers, looking it over. Then, she shakes her head. “You can throw it out, if you want. It takes up too much sp-”

“Do you paint?” Root asks, eyes fixed in fascination.

“No,” Shaw replies flatly, then walks off with three long boxes stacked up in her arms. She heads towards the spare room- now hers- and slides them under the bed. Root follows her silently, leaning in the doorframe to watch her with affectionate eyes. Shaw’s hand runs over the top box, and she sits in contemplation. “I’m gonna need a new fridge,” she mutters to herself, and Root’s brow furrows.

“What do you need a fridge for?” She asks, and Shaw freezes, frosty gaze shooting up to meet Root’s. Without answering, she stands, then brushes past Root to pick up another box.

“Nothing.”

“What are in those boxes?”

Shaw turns, facing her, and places her hands on her hips. The defensiveness written on her face fades away, and her lips draw to a slant. “Guns.” She spins back around before she has time to see Root’s smile, and sets out for another box. In Root’s living room, the copious amount of boxes she thought she’d packed seems rather miniscule. She didn’t have much in her old loft, but she didn’t realize how un-homelike it must have been until now.  _This was a bad idea,_  she scolds herself harshly, slicing the tape off of the nearest box with her knife.  _You should have just said no._

Standing here with Root this close, she can’t help but think that it is going to always be like that. She presses her lips together in thought, mapping out the apartment’s layout in her head. The living room melts flawlessly into the kitchen. On the right, the first door out of the kitchen connects to a small room set up with a table and chairs. A door from the separation point of the living room and kitchen is a moderately sized bathroom. The last door on that side of the house, nestled into the back corner of the apartment, leads straight to a walk in closet. Only, Root has something other than clothes within.  _Not as secretive as a refrigerator,_  Shaw thinks to herself,  _but it’s a pretty nice space._  To the far left of the apartment, past the narrow hall that separates the front door from the rest of the space, are two doors equally spaced apart.  _The first door? Mine. The second? Hers._ She’d never spent any extended amount of time in Root’s home, but did know from today alone that the walls were not as thick as her cement-and-cinder loft. To top it all off, a connecting door runs between the two bedrooms.

Pulling the rustic reading lamp from the box, she walks back into her new room, and places it down on the side table she’d just previously unpacked.  _Where’s Root?_  She asks herself, acknowledging her lack of presence all of a sudden. _I could’ve sworn she was behind me…_

Her eyes flitter over to the partially cracked connecting door, and- after placing the lamp down- she creeps over to it with the curiosity and interest of a child exploring a forest. Everything is new and foreign and exciting. Pulling it silently open, she peeks her head in.

From a quick scan, Shaw can tell the room is set up close to Shaw’s own. The headrests butt up to the same wall, and they both have dressers tucked into the far corners of the room. The paint and flooring are both the same; the only difference between the two is the individual objects within. Where Shaw’s is more-or-less a side table, two lamps, and a bare easel, Root’s has a large cabinet of books hugging the wall of the hallway door, and a computer table at its side. Shaw’s eyes scan back across the room, then stop just before the footrest.

 _Root._ Shaw stands, frozen, as she begins to undress. Her back faces Shaw, and as she slips off her shirt, Shaw can see the muscles in her shoulders rippling; her hair falling across them as she leans to the dresser for a tank top. Pulling it on, she smooths it out, then fidgets with her jean button. Her jeans come off. _You should get out of here_ , Shaw’s mind warns, but her feet are cemented into the woodwork, and her eyes are transfixed.  _This is a bad idea,_ her mind tries once more, but it is all in vain. Root kicks the dark jeans away, then bends over to rummage through the bottom drawer. After a few seconds, she pulls out a light colored pair of night shorts. Stepping into the them, she starts to shimmy them upwards.

“See something you like, Sameen?”

 _Shit_ , her mind reprimands, but she doesn’t move an inch. Root turns, fixing the waist line as she does, with a smug and suggestive smile on her stunning face. Shaw draws her lips tight together, turns, and storms out.  _Note to self,_  she fumes internally,  _buy a dead bolt for that door_.

Stalking out into the living room, she clumsily fumbles for a box, knocking one over in the process. Seething, she rips the tape off, yanking the box open, all the while a hearty string of swears swirl around in her mind. Root slips by her, smile unable to leave her face, and picks up the fallen box. She can feel the side of it growing damp, and quickly cuts it open for inspection. Sticking her left hand in, she can feel liquid against her palm, and the distinct smell of vanilla. Confused, she pulls the top flaps open further, and the room’s light filters in.  _Paint. A box of paint_. And, by the looks of it, the bottle of white broke during the fall.  _So she lied_ , Root thinks with a giddy excitement rising in her stomach.  _She does paint after all._ A satisfactory smile grows on her face, and she turns her head, ready to confront Shaw.

However, she finds her bent over the boxes, reaching for something far back in one of the deeper containers. “Shaw,” Root calls silently at first, a teasing tone in her voice, but is greeted by no answer. “Shaw,” she says again, this time louder. Still there is no response. Root can feel the thin layer of white paint cold on her skin, and she looks down to see her entire left hand incased in white. Her eyes dart between the white of her hand and dark black of Shaw’s pants as an idea quickly unravels.

_‘Whack!’_

Shaw jumps a mile high, empty box flying back as she springs up, pillow in hand. Her cheeks flush a hot red, and her eyes sear in a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

“What the  _hell_  was  _that_?” Shaw erupts, ears starting to match her face. Root shrugs playfully.

“Needed your attention.”

“So,  _naturally_ , you have to smack me in the  _ass_?!” She roars with fluster, shaking her head with a was-that-necessary non-understanding in her countenance. Root laughs at her state, and Shaw’s jaw sets in irritation. “What do you  _need_ ,” she huffs. Root, closing up the box, hands it to Shaw. Keeping her own hands on the corners, she leans in closer to Shaw, the beginning of a Cheshire Cat grin on her lips.

“Here’s the paint you don’t paint with,” she says smartly. “One’s leaking, by the way.” Shaw holds her there with a hard stare for what seems like endless minutes, then yanks the box away. Her eyes have something in them- an inner war perhaps. As she walks off, and Root heads towards the sink, she wonders what it could be.  _Part of her looks as if she wants to punch me_ , she thinks it through, scrubbing the white off under the warm water,  _but what is that other piece?_

_____\ We’ll Find You /_____

“You ready?” Shaw calls out the question past the mattress she has in her arms. She strains her head to the side, looking down the long wall of fabric, waiting for Root’s response. A moment later, Root’s own face peeks out the side, her bright smile signaling her preparedness. Shaw can feel a small smile of her own creeping its way past her defenses. “Okay, let’s go.”

 _This is a bad idea_ , her mind tries once more to sway her out of the situation, but she’s come to almost entirely ignore it by now.  _Too late_ , she tells herself,  _I’m already here._

Slowly but carefully, they carry the mattress through the door- Shaw walking backwards and Root forwards- legs bent and lips bitten until they pass the clearing. With a satisfied sigh, Shaw starts to turn, allowing the mattress to come parallel with the bed frame. They both ease it to the ground, making sure it is steadily standing on its side before they meet at its center. Gently, they ease it until it butts up to the side of the frame.

“On the count of three, tip it over,” Shaw instructs, and Root nods, pleasant smile on her face.

“One.” Shaw looks over at Root, studying her features with a certain fascination she can’t quite place. Everything about Root- her smile, her eyes, her laugh- all seem far too inviting, and especially in that moment.  _This isn’t a good situation for you,_  her mind shrieks.  _You should have said no._

“Two.” Root looks over at Shaw, eyes meeting hers with affection, and Shaw can feel her throat become tight. She thinks of all the times Root had given her a look such as that; all the times Root had spoken to her in a way that matched them. Her mind wanders through the memories of her jokes and her innuendos, leading all the way up to just a few minutes ago, with her undressing. Shaw finds it hard to swallow.  _You needed to tell her no. Just tell her no; go somewhere else. You can’t be here,_  her mind insists in an uproar, yet she can barely register it. _I couldn’t say no,_  she thinks back to herself, her thoughts sounding dazed.  _It’s near impossible._

“Three.” They shove the mattress away from their bodies in unison; however, Shaw didn’t prepare for what would come next. As the top half of the mattress swings down, the bottom surges up, catching her at the knees and catapulting her forward. In a matter of seconds, she feels her balance thrown, and then there is no ground under her feet, until she hits down face first against the springs and foam. By the sound of laughter in her ear, she can tell she is not alone.

Picking up her face, she turns it to the right, letting it rest down as she watches Root’s face. Her hair is a disheveled curtain, and Root swipes the sea of brown behind her ear. Shaw can see her smile, the source of laughter, and the amusement as it burns in her eyes. Shaw laughs in spite of herself, the good mood contagious, until both of their chuckles die out. They study each other in silence- Root sporting a large grin; Shaw a lopsided smile- and Shaw can feel her heart picking up. The protests in her mind fade to nothing, giving up their losing battle, leaving her mind empty of all thoughts except Root.

She thinks of the last time she was on this mattress with Root around. _She hit me with a stun gun,_ Shaw remembers, an inner smile flaring up at the memory. She thinks of how far they’ve come since then. Her heart only grows faster as her mind registers where she is going, and how futile it seems to stop it.  _Now_ , she says to herself,  _now I understand why this was such a bad idea._

The ringing of a phone interrupts her thoughts, and the smile on her face breaks like glass. Feeling around for her from pocket, she protrudes the cell and holds it up numbly to her ear. Root’s expression hasn’t changed, and it sends a chill coursing down Shaw’s spine.

“John…” Shaw says, waiting for a response.

“Hey,” his voice is breathy in her ear, and she instantly becomes alert. “Have you heard anything from Root? She hasn’t answered her phone.” Shaw’s brow knits as she looks over at the woman at her side.

“Yeah, she’s fine, why?” Shaw asks cautiously. There is a sigh of relief on his end of the line.

“We just got a call in at work. A homicide on the third floor of her building; an unidentified brunette. We’re on our way up there now.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Shaw responds, then hangs up the phone. She looks at it a moment, not wanting to tell Root they need to go. However, Root seems to understand, and stands anyway.

“Where are we going?” Root asks, rolling her shoulders in a stretch before helping Shaw up. Shaw can feel an electric surge run up her arm at the touch, and tries to ignore it.

“Somewhere down the hall,” Shaw mutters, slipping out of the room and to the front door. Together they step out, only to see a crowd of bodies four doors down. They share a look, then head briskly forward; inching their way past fretful neighbors and nosy tenants until a body comes into view. Her hair is copper and cut short to her head, and her blue eyes are drawn wide in surprise. A knife is embedded deeply in her chest, and the dark stains of blood are seeping deeply into the beige carpet. Three thoughts cross Shaw’s mind at once: How long ago did this happen; why didn’t we hear it; and why didn’t She warn us?

Looking back at the woman, she has no similarities to Root other than the color hair and apartment floor. Shaw can feel her muscles relaxing, her mind easing at the information. Part of her secretly wondered, in those few short moments between the call and the body, if someone had been out for Root instead. This, thankfully, puts her mind at ease.

Cops spring out from the woodwork. Whereas a second ago there was one, ten to twelve appear out of no where, flooding the scene and pushing bystanders back. Shaw spots John and Lionel, signals for them, then heads towards the edge of the hall. The two detectives follow, leaving the hectic throng to talk to their two comrades.

“Did either one of you get her number?” John asks, and the two shake their heads.

“There’s a chance it wasn’t premeditated,” Root points out, and they all nod their heads. Nonetheless, knowing someone has died- someone they might have been able to save if the circumstances were slightly different- humbles them all. For the moment, at least.

“How did you get here so fast anyway?” Fusco asks Shaw with a suspicious eye, and Shaw narrows her eyes.

“What does  _that_  matter?” She counters defensively.

“Don’t know whether to give you a speeding ticket or a prize,” he remarks jokingly. “It’s been what,  _three_  minutes?”

“But she  _also_  knew that Root was fine,” John points out, and Shaw can feel her ears growing hot with annoyance. The boys share a conversation in a glance, and Shaw’s lip curls to a snarl.

“She’s moving into the building,” Root tells them both simply, and Shaw’s defensive countenance falls.

“What room?” Fusco asks.

“Mine,” she replies, and he begins to laugh.

“Well, that’s going a little  _fast_ , don’t you think?” His good-natured teasing is directed towards Shaw, who doesn’t take it so lightly.

“ _Watch_  it, Lionel,” she says in a deadly tone, but he merely grins.

“Don’t worry,” he assures her with mock innocence. “What the two of you do outside of work is none of my business.”

“We don’t  _do_  anything,” she hisses his way. Rolling her tongue across the fronts of her teeth, she gives her head an annoyed shake, turns, then heads back down the hall. Root, smiling kindly at the detectives in turn, follows her with the slightest hop in her step. The men watch them go; Fusco coughs on air.

“Is that a- a  _handprint_  on her ass?!” He exclaims, eyes wide. John, following his gaze, sees exactly what he is talking about. Humor in his eyes, but seriousness in his voice, he answers.

“Yup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Adding vanilla extract to water base paints is supposed to get rid of the bad paint smell. :D


End file.
